Another Race Hath Been
by Nightdew
Summary: Remember the secret passage in Wind in the Willows that leads from the riverbank to Toad Hall? Ever wondered how Toad's father discovered it? Read on...
1. Chapter 1

The Toad had been having a trying day. This was not the Toad who was later to become the Terror of the Highway: the carefree and generous Toad, the affable and ingenious Toad, about whom many songs were later to be sung (chiefly by him). No, _he _was currently engaged in frightening the river-bankers and infuriating the outdoor staff with his present passion for bicycling, a passion which he had informed his father was the ideal, indeed the only occupation for a modern young gentleman, and to which he intended to devote the remainder of his days (or at any rate the summer vacation). It was proving a somewhat expensive hobby so far, as evidenced by the number of crooked handlebars and snapped spokes lying about the stable yard. Toad Senior felt the pinch to his pocket book with irritation. He had rather hoped the masters would have drilled some sense into the lad this last term, but this appeared not to have been the case. Still, the poor, motherless boy deserved some enjoyment while he was still young. Responsibility would come all too soon.

Beside the rather wearing antics of his son, however, there had been other annoyances. The housekeeper (a solid and determined hedgehog of somewhat prickly disposition) had taken it into her head that today would be an ideal day to begin a thorough (and in Toad's opinion unnecessary) clean of all carpets, curtains and occasional furnishings. Consequently, Toad Hall was become a very whirlwind of dust-sheets, carpet beaters and scurrying housemaids, both within and without. The squire himself had retreated to the relative safety of the rose garden, only to find himself called upon by Dr and Mrs Vole. The latter of whom had pressed him most persistently to revive the Toad Hall Garden Party that had been such a feature when his wife was alive.

"Oh do consider it, Mr Toad, do." Mrs Vole had inclined her head like a schoolgirl while helping herself to another piece of sponge cake. "Not that I miss it in particular you understand, but along the riverbank it was always so anticipated. Quite the highlight of the summer."

"Highlight, don't you know?" Dr Vole had echoed, stirring in his third lump of sugar with gusto.

Toad had muttered grudgingly that he would consider it.

"Oh thank you, Mr Toad, thank you," Mrs Vole had cried, before he had had time to qualify that it was by no means a fixed thing. "You don't know what this will mean to the Ladies' Guild. I must say, this strawberry jam is quite superb. You must get your housekeeper to send me her recipe."

Really, thought Toad when they had finally gone, leaving only an assortment of cake crumbs and the dregs of his finest assam tea, there was more than something to be said for living as his friend Badger did. Of course, one could never really go back to it after knowing the influence of the fairer sex, and then there was the reputation and example to keep up, but all the same there was a great attraction in being able to put one's feet up on the brazier, not trouble to dress for dinner, and merely shout, "Go away!" when one wished to be left in peace.

Toad examined the contents of the teapot with a disappointed sigh that turned into a yawn. It was now the lazy part of the afternoon, when the shade of the mature beech and elm are more welcome than ever, and thoughts turn to drifting aimlessly on calm waters and staring at the clouds. The river would now be abuzz with the wings of the damsel and dragonfly; the swoop of the swallow's tail or the jewelled flash of the kingfisher the only sudden movement.

"And here am I, unable to get a moment's peace in my own home," Toad groaned.

He rang the bell for Natterjack; feeling relieved that he had not offered the Voles a glass of his Mediera wine, but thinking he would be glad of one himself after his ordeal.

"Oh, for some means of escape!" he sighed, closing his eyes. "Some glorious adventure to take me far from here. Some realm of heroes, perchance, where an animal is still his own master and afternoon callers are strictly prohibited."

It will be seen from this that (in private moments at any rate) the Toad was more romantic and less stiffly responsible than he liked others to think. Even as he closed his eyes, the thought of damsels and dragons conjured up a rich landscape ancient in story through which he, Toad, strode like a hero of old, bearing aloft his trusty blade and…

He opened his eyes. Natterjack had still not come. Where was the creature? Toad rang the bell again, more impatiently this time. Its piercing sound drove out the last of his daydream. ("Stuff and nonsense anyway," Toad muttered.) Still no butler arrived. It occurred to Toad that, what with the shouts of annoyance from the stable yard, the "Whoopees" of his transported son, and the sneezes of housemaids who had beaten too many carpets, he simply could not be heard.

"Bother!" he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Indeed it was a bother to lift himself from the wicker armchair and trudge across the dry lawn to let himself in at the conservatory door. ("Like a thief in my own house," Toad thought). It was even more of a bother to discover that Natterjack was nowhere to be found indoors either. In his absence, Toad's house had taken on an unfamiliar and disordered look. Suits of armour stood at odd angles in passageways. Tapestries were hanging over banisters in a most undignified manner. On top of everything else, it irritated the Toad no end.

"And I suppose I shall have arrange my own sustenance into the bargain," he grumbled. "If there's anything left to be had after the ravages of those gluttonous Voles. Really, this is too much."

As he spoke, he was stumping his way across the banqueting- hall, and making rather heavy weather of it too. He would have kicked the suit of armour into the bargain, were it not for the thought of the dreadful din it would make. Surely Natterjack had not chosen this moment to start cleaning the silver? If so, it was highly inconsiderate of him, and Toad was determined to have serious words.

He flung open the door to the butler's pantry. It was deserted. All the silver was locked away it its cabinets and the covered dishes on the benches were (to Toad's utter disappointment) all empty.

"Bother!" he said for a second time, and stamped on the floor for good measure. To his surprise, it gave considerably and sprang back up again. It was not a behaviour the Toad had come to expect from his floorboards. In his present mood, it almost seemed as though the floorboard was insulting him. He stamped on it again. It did the same, only with a plaintive squeak, as if to suggest that it did not wish to be so treated.

"What on earth is wrong with it?" Toad said. "Really, someone might have thought to get that fixed. Why, there's even a piece missing from the corner of this board here."

And he put his fingers into the gap in the floorboard and pulled. The floor groaned and held onto its position. Toad pulled a little harder. This time the floor squeaked some more, upended itself and – as Toad was leaning forward at the time – deposited him suddenly and painfully into a dark, dank hole. As a toad, perhaps he ought not to have minded this, but as master of Toad Hall and personage of some importance, he minded a great deal.

"Blast and botheration!" Toad exclaimed. "Is nothing to go right?"

His situation, in all honesty, was not that bad. A square of light not too far above him showed the yellow painted ceiling of the butler's pantry, and the square gap in his mischievous floor was near enough to climb through without much difficulty. But he had fallen on something hard and sharp, which did little to improve his temper. Nor did the smell, which was of a sort only to be expected in that sort of place. And yet…. And yet… All animals, even those who live in grand historic mansions, have their senses finely tuned to the world around them, and Toad was no exception. There was an echo to his voice as he spoke, something in the feel of the air even, that suggested he had fallen into something much larger than a mere hole.

He reached into his waistcoat pocket, where he always kept a bundle of matches, and struck one against a wall. What he saw was enough to make him forget his bruises.

He was sitting at the mouth of a tunnel! It was rather overgrown at present, with various roots and so forth hanging down from its ceiling and a great deal of earth and mildew underfoot, but even by the brief light of his match, Toad could see that it stretched for some considerable distance. Why, there was no telling how long it was or to where it led. Doubtless, there were twists and turns in it that Toad simply could not see from his present position. He thought about easing himself to his feet, but before he had time the match burnt down to his fingers. He shook it out with several suppressed exclamations, and was on the verge of lighting another when there was a loud cacophony of voices and banging doors above him, followed by a crash, which he was sure was a whole suit of armour falling in pieces on his parquet floor.

"Well, I don't care," said a voice from above, a voice altogether too strident for such a lazy afternoon. "I say it was an absolutely splendid manoeuvre. And it was jolly silly of that hen-house to be in the way in the first place. When I am master of Toad Hall I shall have it pulled down. Horrid hens – ridiculous hens – flapping, feathery hens."

"You'll come off that carpet with those dirty feet this instant, Master Toad," said a female voice. "I haven't worked myself to the bone all day for you to filthy everything again."

"And what about my lettuces?" put in another voice. Toad thought it sounded like one of the gardeners. "I've a good mind to tell your father and have him lock up that bicycle for the rest of the summer."

"Pish-posh!" said the younger Toad. From the female shrieks accompanying this, Toad dreaded to think where he had put his feet now. "I'll have you know that my bicycle riding will be the highlight of the Toad Hall Garden Party. In fact, it is to be reinstated for that very reason. Naturally, it will also include songs and speeches, and very probably a firework display on the terrace, to mark the auspicious occasion."

"Oh no," groaned Toad from the depths of the tunnel. "Not the party. Can't those Voles keep their mouths shut for five minutes?"

Above him, a chorus of incredulous cries and questions drowned out whatever ridiculous thing his son said next. Toad stared ahead into the soft gloom of the tunnel. Its dark silence seemed wonderfully inviting. Would it be too much to ask, Toad thought, to simply stay down here and never have to deal with business above ground ever again? There was a lantern in the smoking-room, he seemed to recall. Perhaps he could fetch it quietly, while all the attention was focused in another direction, and then pull the trap-door over his head and retreat into his own private (if damp) haven of peace and tranquillity.

He hauled his rather well-fed body up through the hole as gently as possible and peered round the door of the butler's pantry. At the far end of the banqueting-hall, he could see two cross and flustered-looking house servants trying to piece together his beloved set of 16th-century jousting armour, and beyond that a great deal of scolding and waving of arms. Toad turned and padded quickly (he had never been known to actually run) towards the smoking-room. The lantern was hanging behind the door, as he had guessed. He took it, along with a couple of extra candles and a tin of biscuits he had forgotten he had left there. ("It never does to be without provisions", Toad told himself). And then he made for the pantry once more, waddling slightly with the extra bulk.


	3. Chapter 3

The tunnel – as he eased his way back into it – seemed cooler and more peaceful than it had a moment ago, if such a thing were possible. Judging from the wails now coming from above ("Do as you wish with me then, cruel Mrs Hedgepig. I shall bear it like a Toad") it probably was. Toad lit the lantern and slid the trap-door over the gap. Then he heaved a huge sigh of relief.

"Escape at last!" he breathed. "And not a moment too soon." The lamplit gloom seemed to fold over him like a cool sheet on a summer's evening. Little shadows danced on the moss-covered walls. The Toad felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Here, finally, he was his own master again, with no need to trouble his head about anything tiresome or annoying.

"And the only question is," he said to himself, munching on a biscuit and looking contemplatively around, "what to do with myself now that I'm here. I can't very well stand about eating biscuits and stubbing my toes on… what is this sharp stuff anyway?"

He moved the lantern around to get a better view. "Why, it's a bit of brick," he said. "And here's another one. How strange! It looks as if the whole floor of the tunnel was covered with them once. Look, here's a bit that's still in place." He felt it with his fingers: small, crumbly bricks held together with grey, crumbly mortar. "Just like a road," Toad said to himself. He straightened his back and picked up the lantern. "And just the road for a Toad to walk on, I should think. The road to calm and contentment."

And so saying he began to walk along the passage, picking his way among the broken bricks and the slippery footholds. The shadows grew and shrank against the roots and earthy walls, and sometimes Toad thought he could pick out more of the crumbly brickwork behind the vegetation. At one point, he even thought he saw a painted eye staring out at him in a sudden flare as his candle started to sputter. ("But that's nonsense, of course," Toad told himself). It was interesting, though: the walls of the tunnel rose much higher than Toad would have expected them to. "And that is saying something," he muttered, swinging the lamp. "I really ought to have read up more on the history of this place. I simply had no idea this passage existed."

By now, he had walked some considerable distance from the banqueting-hall, possibly even from Toad Hall itself. Certainly, the cries and wailings were well out of earshot. Not the sound of a voice or even the piping of a bird was to be heard at all.

"Bliss!" said the Toad to himself. "This truly is the life! No more cleaning days. No more bicycles. No more" – he shuddered as a cold chill gripped his heart – "no more Garden Party. I shall be free from every annoying visitor and well-meaning friend who thinks he can turn up uninvited to empty my larder and ply me with unwanted advice and nonsense about the social scene."

It might be inferred from this that there was as much beneath the surface of Toad's annoyance with the day so far, as there was beneath the floorboards of his butler's pantry, but it would not be polite to say so. Toad, for one, did not dwell on it. There were far more immediate things to occupy his imagination. The tunnel stretched on. There was so much one could do with it, Toad thought. After all, there was no better place for getting away from it all. It could become quite a regular escape. The idea pleased him tremendously. As he walked deeper into the contortions of the passageway, he began to imagine more vividly his plans for excavating and improving his newly-discovered retreat. The roots and growths would have to be trimmed, of course. (Toad was disentangling yet another one from around his head as he thought this). And a lot of this earth could be shifted away. Then he supposed he would have to think about re-laying the pavement, to prevent himself tripping and slipping quite so often. It was a pity that he would probably have to get animals in to do that, but it really couldn't be helped.

"I could always swear them to secrecy," Toad decided. "And have them bring down a few bits of furniture while they were at it."

The suggestion of furniture set his plans off all over again, on an even grander scale. Re-painting sprang to Toad's mind, along with decorating and careful arrangement of tasteful objects. Wallpaper might not go amiss, were it not so damp. Curtains would certainly be a welcome addition. He had soon pictured an entire underground sitting-room, complete with a supply of sporting papers and a box of Havanas.

"A lamp or two there," he said to himself, "a foot-rest here and the whole thing could be very satisfactory. Very satisfactory indeed." He nodded to himself and surveyed the scene. "An underground retreat. I do believe every gentleman should have one. A most welcome addition to any country residence."

This thought naturally led him to thinking about who would _not_ be welcome in his private retreat. Voles came particularly high on the list, followed closely by women in general. ("Don't' need 'em," Toad muttered gruffly). And then there was his son.

"Piper forbid that he should get so much as a whiff of this place!" Toad mopped his brow vigorously. "Some things are more than a father can stand."

"And as for friends," said Toad, gazing up at the tunnel roof, which at this point was noticeably clear of roots and looked like nothing so much as a vaulted archway. "As for friends, I suppose Badger's sort are all right. Keeps himself to himself does old Badger, and doesn't interfere. And that young lad of the Water Rats' who called round the other morning to bring back that bicycle wheel. Bright as a button, he was. If young Toady knew more like him, he might keep out of trouble more. But really…" He looked at the roof again. Where had he seen something like that before? Surely no animal he knew built in that fashion? It was imposing, mysterious even. "Really, is it worth the effort? It's only an endless round of repaying calls, and for what? For constant interruptions and inconveniences, that's what. No, on your own you know where you are. And that," he said, planting his feet firmly on the crumbling brickwork, "is where I intend to spend the best part of my time from now on."

He glanced again at the passage wall, just below the arch. For a moment, he could have sworn that he caught a glimpse of a hand fingering a set of pipes, and the queerest feeling came over him, as though something very important were about to happen. He almost stopped walking. But a step or two later, he began to sense a growing freshness in the air, a scent of sedge and reedmace and the delightful richness of a summer evening by running water. All Nature's best flavours came wafting towards him: damp earth and sun-warmed stones, tinged with the faint smell of hay drifting in from the distant meadows.

"The riverbank!" exclaimed Toad. "So that's where this passage leads. I should have known it all along." By now the earthy darkness was starting to give way to a greenish light in the distance. Toad stepped towards it with rising spirits. "But this is simply splendid. Could hardly have planned it better myself."


	4. Chapter 4

A secret entrance to the riverbank seemed just the thing the Toad needed to complete his plans for a life of gentlemanly hermitage. After all, an animal could not remain cooped up underground the whole time, not an animal such as Toad. He needed fresh air and sunlight to warm him, and the stars to shine on him at night, and what better place to get it than here, where no one could see him coming and interrupt his peaceful reveries. It was perfect. It was entirely his own.

The light was growing stronger; a warm, sunset sort of light, sparkling with ripples from the water. Toad could now see more clearly the semicircular arch high above him in the ceiling. It was… was it? Had men built this place?

A curious heat crept up his back. The light was dazzling his eyes and making him blink, leaving bright circles dancing before him. They hung in the air, seeming to grow larger. They looked like golden moons, like symbols on a standard held high, a standard huge and topped with a fighting eagle. For a moment, Toad thought he heard the blowing of horns, faint and far away, the clashes of sword against sword, the marching of hobnailed sandals on roads like the one beneath his feet.

It was so vivid, and so like the dream he had conjured for himself in the rose-garden, that Toad had to shake his head several times to rid himself of it.

"It can't be," he said to himself. "It's the effect of coming out of the darkness, that's all." But his legs continued to tremble, all the same. This was an awesome place, an ancient place, and for the first time, Toad began to feel that perhaps the tunnel was not all his own after all. Others had been here before him. Maybe they were here still. There was a growing feeling coming over him, a feeling he now realised he had had all along, that he was not alone. He turned round.

There on the tunnel wall, in a space clear of roots and mildew, a painted figure stood in majestic repose, one hoof upon a painted rock, one elbow upon a glossy brown knee. The knowing brown eyes were turned on Toad, and in spite of the ancient nature of the paintwork, they still seemed to sparkle with a kindly reprimand and just a hint of amusement. It was enough to cause Toad's knees to give way, and for him to fall in reverence before the very image of the woodland Friend whose part it is to protect and guide all troubled animals.

"It is He," Toad stammered, his wide eyes taking in the curved sweep of the horns, the deftness of the fingers upon the pan-pipes, the benign smile on the wine-kissed lips. "It is truly He." And a thousand thoughts rushed through his head all at once without his really knowing what they were, save for a growing feeling that he was standing in a spot of tremendous significance, on which the fate of Toad Hall, perhaps of the riverbank itself, might one day depend. A great awe came over him. But such awe cannot last. That is not the demi-god's way. The next moment, the candle in the lantern went out and changed the colour of the light from gold to earthy green again. By the time Toad had fumbled in his pocket for a match and another candle, and got it lit properly, he had completely forgotten what he had been thinking. All he could remember was that his son had smashed up another bicycle in the kitchen-garden, and was now rampaging around the house, knocking down suits of armour and dirtying carpets, without a proper authority figure to take him in hand.

"And that will never do," said Toad, hauling himself off his knees (he couldn't think for the life of him why he was in that position) and striding towards Toad Hall as quickly as the broken pavement would allow. He allowed himself one half-regretful backward glance at the riverbank. It would keep. "What do I think I'm up to, skulking around in tunnels with all that going on upstairs? Lad needs a steadying hand. Can't rely on housekeepers." He kept staring at the walls of the tunnel as he walked, with a peculiar feeling that he ought to be seeing something else, but wasn't.

"This place might come in handy, though," he said. "I'll have to give it some thought."

#

The Badger had been doing very little in particular when the front door-bell rang. Indeed, he had spent most of the day in the deepest recesses of his underground home, thinking once again on those enormous vaultings and pillars, so majestic and yet so futile. Someone must have built them once, Badger considered, some long-lost race of men, once heroic and determined, but whoever-it-was had no use for them now. They were reclaimed, as all things would be one day, by the softening hand of Nature herself. Everything returned to its rightful purpose in the end, Badger thought. Waiting was the thing. There was strength in that which remained behind. The bell tolled once more, a deep chime resonating along the many passageways. Badger grunted and rubbed his eyebrows.

"Who is it this time?" he muttered, shuffling his way up through the central tunnel towards the front door and opening it. "Anyone would think – Toady, old chap! What brings you out here at this hour?"

Perhaps the look in the Toad's eyes said it all. Over the last few days, he had been doing some serious thinking, not to mention some serious cleaning and renovating (all at his own expense and without the least recourse to complaints about the dust or the inconvenience). It showed. Although possibly what showed more was the continual questioning of what exactly he thought he was doing, fussing so much over an underground passage, or why there always seemed to be an idea on the edge of his mind that he could never quite grasp. It may simply have been nerves about the Garden Party affecting his judgement; there again it may not. At any rate, there was an uncertainty to him that didn't seem like the familiar Toad at all.

"What is it, Toad?" asked Badger, in a much more kindly voice.

Toad shuffled his feet and stared straight ahead into Badger's hallway. For a moment, his gaze seemed to sharpen, and he looked as if he was going to ask a question. But the next moment he seemed to think better of it. Or perhaps he simply forgot. He straightened his cravat and cleared his throat.

"Would you care to join me in a stroll, Badger?" he said. "There's something I'd like you to see."

End.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed this story. I originally wrote it for a competition, but I didn't win! "The Piper at the Gates of Dawn" is so my favourite chapter in the Willows, so I wanted to try and get some of that magic in, as well as that of the strange (Roman?) ruins Badger shows to Mole. Please read and review!_


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